Chapter 45 45

Tristis Erinnys

Praetulit infaustas sanguinolenta faces.

Ovid.

(Erinnys, doleful and bloody, extends the unblessed torches.)

And they placed the child in the father's arms! As silently he bent over it, tears-tears, how human!-fell from his eyes like rain! And the little one smiled through the tears that bathed its cheeks! Ah, with what

            
            

COPYRIGHT(©) 2022